


See You on the Other Side

by spacefucker



Category: Original Work
Genre: Description of illness and death, F/M, From a child's POV, Sad, just sad sad sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-07-10 21:47:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7009372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacefucker/pseuds/spacefucker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the account of a young girl as she watches her mother get sick and stay sick over the years, ending in the death of her mother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	See You on the Other Side

It is a month into summer and Alex lies in her bed; the top bunk, to be exact. Early morning light filters through white blinds and her blankets lie askew about her small ankles. Eyes flutter open with a yawn and a tiny fist rises to run out the sleep. With a big stretch and a small noise, she sits up in her bed with the smell of pancakes in the air. Her hair is a cloud of golden brown wrought with impossible knots and she pushes it from her face impatiently.

Not soon after she’s woken up a soft knock sounds at the door to the room she shares with her little sister and her mother’s head pokes in.

“Girls.” She sings. “Wakey, wakey. Breakfast is ready.”

Alex grins, and it’s all teeth, she bends over the railing of her bed to peek at her sister. Her hair is just as bad off as her own and slicked to the side of her face with drool.

“Cam!”

She’s answered with a sleepy huff of breath as Alex flips down over the railing and lands on the floor, stumbling a bit.

“Cam!” She pokes at her little sister’s side. “Last one there is a rotten egg!”

She giggles furiously as she takes off, laughing when she hears her little sister stumble from bed with a shout of indignation.

The house is small, and the pattering of little feet doesn’t last long in the race down the hallway through the living room and into the kitchen. Everything is so bright and warm. Her mother’s paintings of butterflies and fairies flit along the wall with her as she turns a corner and it’s like the sunlight carries the two little girls tumbling into the kitchen.

Mom is there, and she’s still in her pajamas, but the two girls swear up and down she’s the prettiest mommy ever. She turns and looks down at her daughters with a tired smile, but with all the warmth of the sun itself, before flipping the last batch of pancakes onto a plate.

“Well, don’t just stand there. Wash up.”

Both girls, in a constant state of competition, rush to the sink and up their small stepstool to wash their hands.

Breakfast is a slow affair riddled with sticky hands and obnoxious laughter. Alex notices her mother’s reddened hands as she clears their dishes but dismisses it as a mommy thing. A wet rag is taken to their syrupy faces before she sends them off to change for the day.

It’s when the girls are back in their room and Alex is helping Camille into her dress that she hears the crash. Forgetting the zipper on her own dress she runs out to the living room with Cam in tow to see mommy sprawled on the kitchen floor.

“Mommy?”

She’s awake, just barely, but Alex knows what faces mean and mommy’s means she’s in a lot of pain. Her skin is white and red all at once and even though Alex was told what to do when accidents happen she suddenly can’t remember what it is.

“Get the phone, Alexandra. Call your father.” Mom’s breath is all raspy and Alex shifts her weight nervously.

“Now, Alex!”

She springs into action, the phone too large for her hands and the buttons hard to push. After messing up the first few times she manages to call daddy’s work. The lady is very nice to her as she tries to explain what’s happened. It doesn’t take long at all for him to get on the phone and tell her he’s on his way.

Grandma gets there first and daddy comes with the ambulance.

***  
Cam is really grumpy and refuses to eat any of the ‘yucky green’ hospital food. She doesn’t talk much – never really does – and so she simply shakes her head furiously. Daddy looks tired, his eyes are all baggy and he keeps rubbing his hand over his face. When he isn’t looking, Alex eats Cam’s broccoli so daddy will stop worrying about it.  
They’ve been at the hospital for at least one hundred hours, well, that’s what Alex thinks; though dad keeps saying it’s only been three. Their hair is still unbrushed and wild and dad only looks at it sadly before picking Cam up and leading Alex out of the cafeteria by her hand.

The smell in the hospital is weird and on her full stomach it makes her a bit nauseous. She tells daddy so and he just distractedly praises her for saying ‘nauseous’ correctly.  
The whole day is a bit of a blur filled with a lot of really big people saying a lot of really big words. She entertains her sister in a corner with some cups she’s found, and while Cam is happy and giggling Alex can’t help but strain to see over mommy’s bed.

***  
“It’s called Hepatitis C.”

Daddy tries to explain what that means but Alex has a hard time remembering it and it makes her angry. She knows that he is still tired – and has been for the last month or so – so she just nods her head and offers him a small smile.

Smile Daddy.

Mommy’s on bed rest and Alex knows that she hates it, almost as much as she hates the wheelchair. When daddy finally goes back to work Alex is put in charge of making sure mom stays in bed and that Cam doesn’t get into trouble.

“You’re a big girl.” Is all daddy says, ruffling her hair before lacing up his boots and leaving for work.

The day seems to go on forever. Alex is sure that it was at least three hundred whole hours. It’s really hard keeping mommy in bed. She only seems to be able to make her stay by promising to do all the chores herself.

She doesn’t understand how mommies do so much. The vacuum is really heavy and the washing machine has so many buttons. She’s not allowed to use the stove so she just makes cereal for lunch with a little too much milk. At least Cam eats it anyway.

Mommy keeps saying she’ll get better, but she sees the way daddy looks when she says that and knows that it isn’t true. She’s not quite sure though because mommy never lies.

***

It gets rough for a while. Daddy has to quit his job doing his welding things to work closer to mom. They move down a few houses because it’s cheaper and Alex cries when they leave the paintings on the walls behind.

School’s started again and it gets hard to make friends. She’s worried about mom and Cam all day and finds it hard to play with the other kids. So she reads. Time goes faster that way, and by the time it is three o’clock and the bell rings she practically vibrates from her chair.

After waiting outside of her sister’s class the two of them walk hand-in-hand down the road seven blocks and then take a left to get home. It’s faster than the bus and Alex can’t find it in herself to wait. Besides, Cam really likes this time of year and it just rained yesterday so there are tons of puddles to play in.

When their house comes into view Alex breaks into a run, pulling a frustrated Cam behind her before dropping her small book-bag into the yard. Mommy is shoving her wheelchair off the porch, its giant clanking wheels rattling with impact as mom tries putting one foot in front of the other down the stairs.

“You’re not supposed to be out of bed.”

“I’m not going to stay in the house forever, Alex.”

“But Daddy said…”

“Daddy can shut his pie hole.” She finally makes it down the stairs and falls into her chair with a wince. “Besides, we are bringing daddy lunch.”

Cam runs forward first, her tiny hands opening and closing.

“Ride.”

“Little freeloader.”

It’s an affectionate name paired with a kiss to the forehead. Alex moves next to her mother and walks patiently beside her as she wheels herself and Cam down the road to the small grocery store daddy works at.

***  
They’ve replaced her bed with a weird hospital one. It looks big and clean, the sheets stretched over the mattress and the pillows fluffed. Alex hears Mom and Dad murmur about how much it costs and she just knows that it’s going to turn into a fight.

She manages to herd Cam into their room and get her distracted with their tape player just before the yelling starts. Alex can’t make out much, but she hears enough.

“Dammit, Mel! Just let us make you comfortable for Christ’s sake!”

And then there’s just distant crying.  
***  
The first time Alex starts to get scared is when she and Cam get home from school. It’s daddy’s day off and he’s reading a book. Mommy is staring out the window, cigarette half burned and a pile of ash around her hand.

The blanket she’s using is riddled with burn marks and stains now. The pretty floral fabric bleached out from its constant time in the sun. The fabric makes her look pale and the blanket seems larger, though Alex knows it’s just because Mom’s getting smaller.

Grandma walks in and comes around to see Mom. Suddenly she’s screaming and has Alex by the arm, pulling her to her chest. She smells like rotten eggs and cigarette smoke. Up this close she can see the yellow in her eyes and the tint to her skin.

“Who are you?” The yelling is muffled with mom’s hand pressed to her face. “John! John!”

It takes half an hour to calm her down, and another just to get her to release Alex from her grip. Grandma is trying very hard not to cry and Cam is sitting on the couch, eyes wide and hands shaking.

It’s the first time mommy starts forgetting.

***  
Mom’s been sick for such a long time that Alex has trouble remembering the time when she wasn’t. It’s frustrating because it’s been two years and just because she’s only nine doesn’t mean she isn’t old enough. Alex hears more than Grandma and Dad think; she knows that mom isn’t going to get better. She just wishes someone would say it.  
The closest she gets to this affirmation is on a car ride up to St. Louis to visit Mom there. She’s been in their Intensive Care Unit for a while now and is being transferred to her own room today. It’s a long car ride and Cam has to keep stopping to pee.

“Is mom going to get better?”

It has to be the twentieth time she’s asked her dad this since the ride began and finally he cracks. It isn’t gratifying. His shoulders sag and he looks to the ground with a sigh.

“I don’t know.”

Suddenly Alex feels horrible for even asking and worse for badgering him about it. She tries desperately to think of a way to make him smile, even if it’s a little. As they clamber back into the car she finds a half-full water bottle. She turns to her dad and looks at him with a crooked smile, flicking the bottle with her fingers.

“Look, dad, tap water.”

His laugh is genuine, if a little weak, and Alex tries holding onto that for a little bit.

***  
The hospital visit wasn’t a good idea. Alex thinks everyone sort of knew that but wanted things to be different. They aren’t and it makes Grandma cry the whole ride home. Mom isn’t really ‘awake’ anymore. Dad tries to explain that it’s because she isn’t ‘lucid’, but that word feels foreign on her tongue. The doctors talk like that and they haven’t fixed her yet.

When they get home they’re called with an invitation to Thanksgiving dinner. Alex is angry, almost as much as her father, because none of these people care about mom. They’ve been avoiding her and she knows it. She’s heard what they say about her. No one visits and Alex refuses to speak with them when asked. Dad looks relieved at that and Alex smiles, thankful that she’s done something right.

But it doesn’t last long and she’s forced to go anyway. She learns a lot about patience that day. Surrounded by food and people she hears what they have to say about mom’s condition. None of its good and a lot of it is the claim that it’s contagious and Alex just wants to scream ‘No it isn’t! Look at me! Look! I’m not sick!’ And even though she hates them she just wants to beg them to visit mom just once.

“Their youngest one is awfully quiet.”

“Certainly some kind of learning disability if I’ve ever seen one.”

“Shame, really.”

Alex’s had enough and manages to use the house phone to call her dad to be picked up. She waits outside in the soft snowfall with her little sister at her side. She doesn’t tell him what happened because she’s sure he already knows it all.

***  
Christmas comes and goes in a flurry of small presents and stretched smiles and suddenly it’s her birthday. Money is tight but her dad manages to buy her a book. It’s more than enough for her. If anything she feels bad that dad stressed himself out about it.

Alex is ten now and has a better understanding of time and just how little of it her mom really does have left. It comes as a bit of a surprise when they get a call that night. Her mom is having a ‘lucid’ period and Alex is so caught up in hearing her talk that she misses the sound of her voice cracking.

“I’m so sorry, baby girl.” There’s a sniffle and a pause. “You’re ten whole years and I’m not even there to give you ten whole kisses.”

Her speech is slow and slurred. It doesn’t sound like the same one that used to sing so prettily but Alex loves it all the same. She assures her mom that it’s perfectly fine and she’s just happy to hear from her.

Alex ends the call when she hears her mom fall asleep and she’s wrapped up in her father’s arms as she cries.

***  
Two weeks later mom comes home from the hospital. Dad tells her it’s because she wants to die at home. Alex keeps that information to herself and from the ears of Cam.  
The hospital bed is back and it’s hooked up to a loud machine. The in-home nurse explains how it works before leaving. No one wants to leave the living-room to sleep so they all sleep on the floor next to mom’s bed.

Her breathing is deep and watery. The smell of the fluid in her lungs is overpowering but after the first few days becomes practically unnoticeable.

Alex is up first on the fifth day, she wakes in the middle of the night to an eerie quiet. Machines are running, but other than the quiet snores of her little sister, everything is   
still. She rises from her pallet on the floor and tiptoes around her sister to check on mom.

She’s not breathing. Alex stands there for a few minutes, staring at her chest hoping to catch the steady rise and fall but sees nothing. Finally, she calls out to her dad and the next thing she knows is that the ambulance is sounding off and family members have finally visited and they’re all in tears. She hides Cam back in their room and tells her that everything is fine. She hates to lie.

Alex can’t cry and she hopes that she can soon because she knows mom is dead and the reality of it is too much to really handle. No tears come, though.

***  
The funeral is a short affair. Not many people go considering the size of their family. Alex finds herself more angry than sad. All the people around her crying have no right to those tears and claims of lost time. Most of them turned their back on her and her mom when things were bad and she just wants them all to leave.

Instead of yelling out, she sits in a pew, Cam’s hand held tightly in her own as she waits patiently for their turn. When the time arises, Camille is surprisingly the first one up. She’s strains on her tip-toes to place a series of hand-drawn pictures into the open coffin. Alex rearranges them for her before brushing a little hair from her mom’s stiff face.

“When she wakes up she’ll see them?”

Camille still doesn’t seem to understand and the pinpricks of tears finally begin forming behind Alex’s eyes.

“She’s not waking up this time, Cam.”  
***

After everyone’s left the burial site grandma pulls four balloons from the back of her car. Papa holds them while she hands out paper and pen to Cam, dad, and herself.  
“It’s always hard to say what we want when we’re around others. So write what you want to say to her and we’ll send them right up to heaven.”  
Cam’s furiously drawing a picture of some cats with several hearts colored in around them. It’s sweet and completely something she would do. Grandma just smiles down on her with a tired stretch of her lips before tying Cam’s to her balloon.

Dad was finished before Alex and she wants to know what he has to say to her but can’t bring herself to ask.

‘I miss you’, is all she writes. It’s not much but it’s the only thing she can think to say.

They release the balloons into a biting breeze and watch them sail away against the backdrop of grey-blue cloud.

Alex knows that the balloons will pop. She knows these messages don’t actually make their way to heaven. What she does hope is that mom will see them before they fall   
back to earth.

**Author's Note:**

> This was cathartic for me and basically loosely based on my life. 
> 
> Catch me @spacefucker for fandom prompts and original work prompts.


End file.
